Great Divide: Montana & Canada 🏁

Welcome to my reflection on state #5 & country #2 in our northbound journey through the middle of America (and Canada). Six months ago, my best friend Will Reynolds and I embarked on a life-changing experience on the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. The Montana and Canada portion of the GDMBR covered us in rain showers, led us to trail angels, and took our two wheels across the finish line in Banff, CA. This is the final entry of 4 blog posts outlining the characters we encountered and the adventures we experienced.

All photography taken by Will Reynolds

Chapter 16 Mitchell (Continued):

We descended into Montana as snow began to fall and the roads became cake-like mud. The snow would cease and the sun would tease us only to return under the clouds. Our knobby tires turned to slicks and our derailleur hangers morphed into single-speed mechanisms. Vibes were high as a new state meant one step closer to the finish line and we had heard marvelous stories of sights we would see in Montana. Our northbound cohort continued to pass rider after rider asking us what was ahead, this was fun at first, but really began to slow our progress after the 6th encounter. Our friendly conversations turned to no eye contact and a brief wave as we needed to continue on. To the southbounders credit, they had been through the wringer, starting in Banff with significant snow storms and a desire to reach a warm dry place. 

Our travels with Mitchell were coming to a close as he was expected in Idaho Falls for a flight back to Knoxville, TN in the morning. We cherished the time we had left together by baking roadside coffee, pepperoni tortilla wraps and throwing rocks at signs. Mitchel had arranged a ride from our Jackson Hole friend, Jesse who was set to pick him up in Lima, MT. The riding continued to beat us down and we were searching deeply for cell service to let Jesse know our ETA. We finally found a sweet sweet bar of 5G. Jesse asked if there is any way we could get closer to Jackson Hole as her work was running late. After much roadside deliberation, Mitchell seemed almost too confident in his hitchhiking abilities. We were two miles from a major highway and decided to give this option a go. 

Mitchell, Will, and I made a rule that we would spend 30 minutes max attempting to find a ride. If we failed within that 30 minutes, we would make the desperation call to Jesse. Mitchell hopped the fence to get closer to the highway and we handed his bike over. Will and I watched the first semi-truck pass at 80 miles per hour and our motivation dwindled. We were seeing a car every couple of minutes and Mitchell's thumb was still protruding optimistically. Ten minutes in, we see break lights from a white van. We watched as Mitchell proceeded to the car with caution. Will and I were nervous, but once we saw the driver's trunk full of mountain bikes, we knew Mitchell was in good hands. Will and I watched as Mitchell made his way back and we proceeded to Lima.

Chapter 17 Gary Johnson :

Gary Johnson has little to do with this chapter, but we saw him on day 32 of the Great Divide and found that rather hysterical. Will and I settle into an affordable motel in Lima and load up on peanut butter M & M’s, frozen burritos, and supplies for the following day's travels. Our motel was a popular destination for through hikers and bike packers. The lobby had leftover camping meals and gas canisters for free. The room had a bunk bed and two full sized beds with a TV, microwave, leaky shower, and floor covered in carpet. Will and I laid out our tents to dry and fell fast asleep. The next morning we packed up shop and started with breakfast at the motel diner. The diner was packed with other divide riders sharing stories of their encounters. Will and I consumed our pancakes and eavesdropped. We knew we were in for some climby couple of days but had no idea what was actually ahead. 

The ride out of Lima was everything you’d expect from the tales of gold rush miners making their way across these landscapes. The Ballad of Buster Scruggs filled my thoughts and Red Hill Mining Town by U2 entered my ears. We were passing a rider every 30 minutes or so and as we stop for lunch a nice man named Kevin from South Africa joined us. He let us know Gary was just down the road and he was NOT looking happy. Kevin told us about his life back home and his preparation for the divide. He gave us some great tips on loading up ahead and we shared the same. We continued on and as our legs began to grow weary we saw a camper van headed toward us. The driver slowed and we made brief conversation before he invited us in for cheezits and a cold coke. In any other circumstance, this might be considered sketch, but he informed us he was the SAG wagon for his cohort of retired teachers and friends just down the road. The divide continues to surprise us and we’re so fortunate this was not the last of our generous encounters. 

Will and I continued on, gave a wave to Gary, and set our sights on Bannack Ghost Town and campground. After numerous mosquito bites and hella cattle crossings we arrived at a church camp-looking oasis. Water sources were abundant and fellow campers were spread out across this strange place. A nice park ranger came to collect our site fees and informed us of the 60+ abandoned buildings throughout the property and a brief history lesson on the minors of this ghost town. It was spooky and amazing to sleep in this random piece of history.

Chapter 18 Fleecer Ridge:

This chapter is a deviation from our conventional character titles and focuses specifically on the most difficult climb on our journey.

Will and I pack up from Bannak Ghost Town and make our way toward Wise River. The landscape continues to evolve into picturesque Montana and we link up with a bike packer from New Jersey. He’s headed west and it’s refreshing to chat of life back on the east coast. We depart ways and arrive in a small town called Polaris. We remember Kevin speaking of this incredible hostel and extremely kind owner. We take shade at the local post office and a Subaru with a poodle pulls up. Of course, it’s the hostel owner and she tells us tales of divide riders and informs us of a hot spring about 10 miles up the road. We arrive at the hot springs an hour or so later and discover it is private property with a restaurant and entry fee. We were not terribly upset about this outcome until we discovered the pools were drained, the restaurant was closed and there was an extremely sad bike packer on the front porch planning his ride home after deciding to end his divide ride short. Will and I decide to press on and make out way toward our camping destination, Wise River. 

The mountainous landscape is at its peak and Will and I are chugging along with gnarly climbs and 30-minute descents. We make up for our failed hot springs experience with a dip in the river we’re following. We spend an hour or so here napping, sunbathing, and refreshing ourselves in the purest glacier water. The descent into Wise River is rather easy as we take turns drafting off each other and arrive at a semi-populated town with a gas station and a couple of dining options. We load up on ice cream sandwiches, pie, and a meal with some actual substance, charge our phones, and realize we still have solid daylight to press on. 

We set our GPS’s towards Butte, MT, and agreed to press on for 10 more miles. We hit some nice flowy jeep track and followed streams uphill. We spotted a nice place to camp and began our nightly routine. Filter water, slam some snickers, and place all of our food in a bear bag. At some point along this journey, we lost our rope for the bear bag and began to suspend it from trees with large sticks. This made for a rather comical end to each of our days. As we read through the elevation profile for the next day we realized a large 23% grade lay ahead and knew we were in for a treat. 

The finish line was in sight and we were in the most beautiful part of our journey. Will and I woke up and disassembled our homes. We loaded up on oatmeal and coffee and began the climb up fleecer ridge. The ride was challenging, but pleasant. We hit an incredibly steep quarter-mile climb and figured we had passed the elevation spike noticed the night before. To our dismay, we rounded the corner to a never-ending uphill battle. 

Will went first and attempted to ride the grade, but soon caved and we began hiking. We had prided ourselves in having yet to hike-a-bike, but this was truly impossible. The strategy was to take two steps, elongate your arms and set your bike down. We repeated this process over and over again all while hysterically laughing. We finally saw the clouds poke over the top of the mountain and the finish line was in sight. The 23% grade calmed and we were able to ride out the last quarter mile to the top. We recovered with some snacks and continued laughing at how incredibly impossible this was. Now it was time to descend! The downhill portion was sketchy (especially with rim brakes) so we took it easy. Will mounted his bike and immediately fell over. This sent me spiraling into drooling laughter. We sat on the ridge and admired the beauty while gearing up for a second go at getting on our bikes. I was still in hysterics from the first tumble and low and behold, Will hops on his bike, loses control, and sends it straight into the berm. I’m done for. After I confirmed he was okay, I couldn’t control myself and laughed all the way to the bottom of Fleecer Ridge.

Chapter 19 John & Bill:
It seemed like Fleecer Ridge carried us straight into Butte, MT. We’re excited for a proper resupply, a little bit of bike maintenance, and a hearty meal. Butte is a strange place but has everything we need. Will and I hit a bike shop that immediately attended to our questions, and gave us little bags of trail mix and bottled water. Will inquires about a new tire while I load up on GU’s and hydration mix. We’re sent to another bike shop for the last remaining 26” tire in town and Will is back in business with a fresh new “Trail Boss”. We hit a Nashville-looking diner and devoir nachos, IPA’s and milkshakes. Our server informs us of a concert and motocross spectacle taking place downtown…we couldn’t not attend. Will and I mozy to Broadway and witness the most “Montana” night out one could imagine. Motocross bikes are flying through the air while a country artist names Tim Montana is performing Kid Rock covers. The people-watching is incredible and the White Claws keep flowing. We can't hear ourselves think and begin to experience some incredibly odd culture shock, so we make our way out of Butte and onto Helena. 

Will and I had heard rumors from Butte locals that the area we were headed into might not be so safe for camping. The sun begins to set and we’re determined to get 10+ miles out of town. We enter a ravine and notice some cows have escaped from their home. Having grown up on a farm, Will relates to the struggle of wrangling cattle and is determined to identify the hole in the fence and how we can get these calves back to their mother. I go along with the flow and we return the little cows safely to their families. At this point, we’re riding in complete darkness and using our headlamps to scope campsites. We relate to the “not so safe” elements that the locals had described as we spot abandoned buses and wildlife lurking in the woods. We make camp in the safest option we can find and sleep soundly through the night. 

In the morning we awake to two Englishmen. “John! Get a load of this…they’re camping in the bushes!” Bill exclaims. We wave hello to two fellow northbound divide riders and they say “late start huh?”. Immediately feeling insulted by our new friends we make haste to pack up camp and catch up with them. Will and I quickly catch John and Bill and begin to trade stories. They’re two lads from Jersey, just off the coast of France. We continue chatting but found it difficult to get a lot of information out of them, John just kept making fun of our logistical strategies (or lack thereof) and late start time. So we continue onto the famous Alpaca Farm. Every southbound rider has sung this inn’s praises. We’ve heard rumors of a free lodging experience on an alpaca farm with stocked pantries, wine, and individual bunkhouses. We arrive at this wonderland and the rumors are true. We settle into our little hut that is full of pop tarts, pasta, cooking supplies, water, and wine. We make our way to the host's home and thank them for their generosity and hospitality. John and Bill arrive soon after and we are forced to engage in conversation over turkey sandwiches and beers. It’s a great short rest day and Bill and John are growing on us. We chat with a couple of other campers on the farm and prepare for a feast of dinner using the gas camping stove and Alpaca Farm supplies. It's a wonderful and much-needed respite.